Around the World in 80 Dinners - Bill Jamison [42]
SERVES 6 AS AN APPETIZER, 4 AS A MAIN DISH
1 pound very fresh high-grade ahi tuna, diced in neat ½-inch cubes
½ cup fresh lime juice
½ cup coconut milk
½ cup diced peeled and seeded cucumber
4 to 5 scallions, green and white portions, split lengthwise and minced
1 fresh hot small green or red chile, seeded and minced, optional
Several tablespoons shredded coconut, optional
¾ teaspoon salt, or more to taste
Freshly ground black pepper
1 medium tomato, seeded and squeezed to eliminate liquid, diced
Combine in a medium bowl the tuna, lime juice, coconut milk, cucumber, scallions, optional chile and coconut, salt, and pepper. Refrigerate 30 minutes to 1 hour. Mix in the tomato and serve right away.
SINGAPORE
THE APPROACH OF EVENING LURES US IRRESISTIBLY into Singapore’s red-light district, discreetly hidden in residential quarters among the street-side shops of Geylang Road, a major artery. If you know the city-state’s reputation for paternalistic morality, you might be surprised to learn that the sex trade flourishes here. The government bans adult magazines such as Playboy and even requires ones with “mature content” like Cosmopolitan to carry a warning on the cover, but Big Brother approves of prostitution, as long as it isn’t merely for oral sex (legal just as a prelude to conventional copulation) and doesn’t involve sodomy, a heinous offense punishable by brutal and bloody caning.
Heedless on this sweltering night to any of these indulgences, our carnal cravings focus exclusively on crab. On September 10, 2003, about a year before we made final decisions on destinations to visit on this trip, the late R. W. “Johnny” Apple, Jr., published an article in the New York Times on Singapore’s “endless supper.” A renowned journalist equally esteemed for his political reporting and his discriminating gluttony, Apple claimed the crab bee hoon (a preparation with rice vermicelli) at Sin Huat Eating House on Geylang Road was “the best crab dish we tasted in a city famous for crab.” He didn’t describe the place or its location in any detail, but we know our lust for the bee hoon will lead us to the door.
Assuming it has a door, which isn’t really the case. Approaching the area on foot, looking carefully for any sign of an “eating house,” we finally come across an open-air sidewalk dive on a corner with a small sign announcing “Sin Huat.”
“Surely, that’s not our spot,” Cheryl says hopefully. “Let’s look a little further.” Nothing about the neighborhood or premises seems promising except for rows of fish and seafood tanks, enough—after cleaning the grime off the outside—to supply a large aquarium. The tanks provide all the decor, and several dingy, rickety plastic tables on the sidewalk constitute all the dining accoutrements.
“I’m afraid we’ve found it,” Bill says. “Why don’t we sit down and at least get a beer?”
He leads the way over to a couple of short plastic stools, the only seats out at the time until a wiry spark plug of a woman rushes from inside to wrestle real plastic chairs from a tall stack in a corner. Bill orders a big bottle of Tiger beer for us to share, and as Spark Plug pours us glasses, she insists, “You eat some steamed scallops, too.” Not quite sure how or why to refuse the food, we shrug our agreement to the order, and she disappears into the maze of tanks. Inspecting the Tiger bottle, Cheryl hands it over to Bill, pointing to a promise that drinkers will “Live Like a Rock Star.”
“Yeah, right,” he says. “So Jagger’s going to join us at this dump any moment now?”
While we sip the refreshingly cold brew, a cook emerges from a kitchen at the rear wearing knee-high rubber boots, sloshes along the wet floor, reaches into one of the tanks, and grabs our scallops, still alive in their shells. Cheryl watches him intently. “I love the Chinese sense of fresh. None of this ‘air-expressed daily’ or even caught the same day. If it’s dead when it reaches the kitchen, it might as well have been dead for a week.”
“It’s definitely a good omen.”
A half of